Delivery Boys
by Lian-kun
Summary: AU. Fed up with his bland bourgeois society, Mathias decides to head out on a journey of self-discovery. And what a better place to start than the mysterious realms of Old Midgard, haven for thieves, brawlers, magicians and all things unique and downright strange? DenNor, SuFin, and LOTS of other pairings.


_**Oh, hello! Thank you for clicking the link to this fic, even if you are here simply to browse. ^~^ First off, a big thanks to my beta-sis, Kitty-Kat Allie, for her awesome help. Go check her stories out! As with my other fail series, Inescapable Fate, I've decided not to add onto the story just yet, seeing as sh*t will hit the fan and angst is a no-go zone for me at the moment. So I decided on something more light-hearted like this. This is an adventure /humour/romance fic, so there are much more pairings in here than listed in the summary (including some Spamano for my sweet beta). ;3 Basically, this fic will work a bit like an adventure game, ahaha. It's hard to explain at first, but Mathias & co. will receive "side-quests" with each passing event and character that he meets. Sounds fun, no? I hope so. orz**_

_**Unfortunately, my update schedule is… varied. It really depends on how much torture school feels like dealing on me. But for now, please enjoy. :) **_

_**WARNINGS: Language, violence, drugs/alcohol and m/m relationships, of course.**_

_**DISCLAIMER: The only thing I own here are the words in this fic. Hetalia is not mine. :C**_

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Delivery Boys

Chapter 1  
Welcome, Fellow Proletariat

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Maybe it had been his cocky over-confidence that led to this decision. Maybe it had been his curiosity in experiencing the simpler things in life. Or maybe it was just utter stupidity. It could have been all three. Nevertheless, Mathias Christen Køhler didn't regret his choice to leave his grand estate in sector DK, Asgard, for its outskirts, otherwise known as Old Midgard. "Anarchy, debauchery, deceit," was all he heard whenever he mentioned the former state and he was more than fed up with the lack of proof in every claim. If he were to believe that the once great Midgard – the land of historic building structures, lush vegetation, and refreshing sunlit coasts – had become the most dangerous and unpleasant place to live in, then he would have to believe every prejudice that spouted out of an Asgardian mouth.

After completing his mandatory undergraduate course for accounting in college (_thanks a bunch, pa, that _really _helped_) and earning enough money from work, despite having been provided more than plenty by his parents and elders for all his twenty-two years on Asgard, he was deemed a free man by the family, and more importantly, his parents. Not that they were happy about his decision to go on a "pilgrimage to death", as they loathingly labelled it.

"Peter says that Arthur says that you won't last two hours in Old Midgard," murmured Sten, his baby brother, as he lay on Mathias' bed, phone in his hands. Mathias had managed to cram several articles of clothing and other necessities into a monstrous satchel and was rather pleased at the remaining space. Satisfied, he tossed his wallet and a tub of styling mousse into the bag.

"Well, you can tell Peter to tell Arthur that he can go suck on a big-"

"Mathias!" came the agitated voice of his mother from the next room. Gosh, the woman had sharp ears.

"I was gonna say 'turd', ma, I swear."

With an irritated growl, she stomped into his bedroom and whacked him across the back of his head, receiving an amused yelp from the young man. She chuckled light-heartedly. Mathias had been told countless times that he and his mother were too alike for even mother and son; they had the same wild, blonde hair, although hers came in loose waves that reached her waist, their eyes sparkled like clear, blue lakes, and their cheeky grins were unlike any other on the planet. The only traits that Mathias seemed to share with his father was his height and dark eyebrows, which he got teased for by Arthur even though the stupid Britannian had noticeably bushier ones.

"Your vulgar language is the reason why Sten and Peter are such troublemakers," she huffed, folding her arms as she plopped onto the cleared-off mattress.

The room was almost spotless – everything from his clothes to all the useless junk in his room had been packed into boxes and stacked inside his large wardrobe. The giant window doors that led to the balcony were free of those wonderful black curtains that shielded him from the morning sun, and all the posters of everything and anything were gone, leaving behind the smooth beige wall. Without all the clutter, the room was rather spacious and attractive. It would make a great spare room. Sten, completely absorbed in texting and playing his strangely-soothing acoustic music, paid no heed to his mother's previous comment.

"Hey, it's not as though either of them follow my influence," Mathias retorted, ruffling the shaggy blonde hair hidden under Sten's ski hat. The boy grumbled, batting his hand away lazily.

"Come on, Peter calls you '_Uncle_ Mat'."

Mathias shrugged goofily. "Doesn't prove anything."

"Sure it doesn't," the woman replied sarcastically. "Are you sure about this whole journey to Old Midgard, Mathias? I've heard that their telecommunications systems, if they actually have any, are much different from ours. How will you get in contact with us?"

"I'm more than sure about this. I've been dying to see the _real_ Old Midgard ever since I was a kid. I'll just send letters to you guys every few stops I make and provide an address for you to post back. They'll probably reach the outer sectors where they can forward it to ours." Mathias nodded to himself with a bright grin. "Yeah, sounds about right. It's old-fashioned, but it works."

Although Asgard and Old Midgard had as little communication with each other as politically possible, there was always the global mail carrier service that very few Midgardians used to contact their better-off relatives in outer Asgard. It was more of a privilege than a right, according to his fellow civilians.

"Why do you make Old Midgard sound almost decent whenever you speak of it?" Ma sighed, wrapping one slim arm around Mathias' shoulders.

Mathias hugged his mother back, frowning when he heard her voice crack. Okay, so he was a mama's boy. It may have been a bit embarrassing to hang around and laugh with his mother more times than he heard his father compliment him, but she _did_ shower him with enough affection to make up for his pa's unfulfilled requirement. In other words, he didn't really find anything wrong about being a mama's boy, even if Arthur constantly heckled him about it. At least Mathias' cooking didn't send his poor brother to hospital.

"'Cause maybe it isn't half as bad as everyone says," said Mathias after a moment of silence. He allowed his mother some time to recover from her tears, but Sten's low-spirited music seemed to encourage the waterworks. "Urgh, Sten…! Could you quit the emo tunes?" Finally responding to his surroundings, his younger brother paused his music and glanced upwards, confused.

"For the last time, I am listening to _indie _music. And why is ma crying? Not cool, bro."

"And the difference is?" Mathias chuckled and encircled his little brother with his other arm. "Ma's just sad that I'm going. I'll miss you guys."

"Likewise, bro," Sten droned, playing another one of his "outsider" songs, this time one with an upbeat acoustic melody. At least it lightened the mood. "Oh, and Peter says that Arthur says, 'At least I've had one to-'"

"STEN!"

.

"So, you were serious, weren't you." Mathias heard the tired sigh of his father through the phone – the same sigh that he used when Mathias got into his first of many fights, when he failed all his yearly exams in middle school, and when he told Pa that he wasn't continuing his studies at college – the disappointed, irritated, "I-give-up-on-life-and-want-to-jump-off-a-bridge" sigh. "Where did I go wrong in raising you?"

"Hey, that's not very encouraging of you to say," said Mathias with a pout. "Are you saying that you'd rather see me slouching at home, drinking and partying for the rest of my life?" It may have been rather difficult to infuriate the young blonde, but his father could achieve such a feat within three minutes of speaking.

"You have a point, son. For once." Mathias cringed upon hearing his reply. "But how are you going to get to your destination, wherever it is, without transport? It's not as though we have shuttles or cruises to that rundown area."

Mathias scoffed, but kept his cool. He would be the bigger man in this situation this time. "Pa, I've planned everything beforehand. 'For once'," he added in a mock voice similar to the older man's. "Seeing as your company's products are all for the environment, I thought that bringing Odin with me would benefit me. What do you think?" Ah, the Odin MM: the newest generation of solar motorcycles, without the geeky, scale-like look of the first models. But if all of those rumours and urban myths about Old Midgard were true, then the lack of sunlight there meant he was screwed. Unless those Midgardians used petrol nowadays; otherwise he was _totally_ screwed. "I'll just take the highway that connects Asgard to Britannia and make a little detour, somehow."

"The Odin MM doesn't guarantee your safety. Those Midgardians would kill you just to take a look at that thing."

"Pa, I'm more than capable of fighting, and you know that."

"So, you're saying your fists are going to win against knives and pistols? And how about magic?"

Oh God, the M-word. If there was anything that the conservative Asgardian hated more than their ex-ally, it was sorcery. On the contrary, Mathias had been interested in folklore and the like since he had been passed down his great-grandfather's book of fairy tales and legends. He was a strange kid, according to his neighbours.

"I'm pretty sure I'd have both and more in my arsenal. Well, not magic, but-"

"It doesn't matter. They probably have more experience in fighting, seeing as they're so uncivilised. You'd die."

Mathias gritted his teeth, clutching the phone as hard as he could without crushing it. "Stop being so pessimistic, pa! You're creeping me out."

"Enough to get you to reconsider your stupid decision?"

"Nope! Bye, pa. Love you lots." And with that said and done, Mathias hung up before his father could even retaliate. _Well, that was as unpleasant as I thought it would turn out to be_. Behind him, Sten and their mother stood in front of the door, worried, as he returned the phone. He no longer had any use for it once it ran out of battery if the charger cord was incompatible with Midgardian power. Hm, maybe he could sell it. Mathias asked for it back and shoved it in his pocket, walking back inside for the charger, enduring the monstrous flight of stairs to his room. He sure was going to miss sliding down the rails (and falling off and breaking his arm like that one time in high school).

"I'm sorry, dear. Pa's just worried for you." Mathias forced a smile onto his face and nodded to his ma knowingly. Even if his father was trying to protect him, he was still an arse. Typical pa.

"I know, ma, it's okay. Just don't tell him I… you know, stole his rounds. Well, _farvel_." Waving with one hand and saluting with his other, he seated himself on his beloved Odin and grinned, excited. It was rather well-kept and in a much better condition than a lot of his other belongings. Its sleek, midnight-black frame rimmed with gold runic patterns that sparkled like magic against the strong rays of sun only contributed more to the vehicle's perfection. Screw humans, this two-wheeled beast was _his_ baby. Screw Natalia, not that she ever let him do so.

And with one last wave, Mathias was on the road, closer to his goal to escape the borders of Asgard that caged him in like the stupid, obedient citizen that he was born and raised to be. Sign after sign flashed past him like the passing day, and only when the sun started to lower did Mathias start to feel anxious. How much solar energy did he still have left? Would the backup gas be enough? Halting in front of a rare traffic light, he clutched onto the wooden cross that hung from his neck on a black cord for reassurance. It had been a gift from his father, back when Mathias was his perfect little boy. Oh, the memories. Pulling his jacket closer in an effort to shield himself from the merciless cold, he shook all thoughts of home far, far away, revving his engine at the first sign of green.

More hours passed. The sight of cars, other motorcycles, smooth roads and claustrophobic tunnels had become enough to generate Mathias' lethargy, so he made a turn into a less busy road to check whether or not he was starting to ride around in circles. Having only had a bottle of water and a couple muesli bars (it was all he could find that _didn't_ expire too soon and still tasted pretty good) every few hours didn't quite cut it. And from the looks of it, he was running out of solar energy _fast_ and there was no hotel or inn in sight; only small but decent urban dwellings and facilities that signalled that he had made some decent distance. It was so unlike the manors and high-rise apartments that he encountered daily on his way to work or to the shopping boulevard, or when coming back home… _Argh, snap out of it, Mathias_, he berated himself with a knock on his helmet. He'd been planning this journey since middle school, so why was he so unsure of his next move? Mathias checked the map on Odin's pre-installed GPS system, inspecting the roads and services that were available nearby. He had downloaded some out-dated maps of Old Midgard just to get a slight idea of the area, but who knows whether or not those sources were reliable. After a minute of searching, he discovered a little inn close to the border of the town that also led to one of the ancient roads to Old Midgard. Mathias allowed himself some time to fist pump and holler, ignoring the people on the sidewalk that stared at him oddly.

The increase in nature and the decline in billboard-sized signs signalled that he was getting closer to his destination, but there was no doubt that these unfamiliar surroundings were starting to freak him out just a little. This wasn't Old Midgard just yet, but the working class in Asgard lived further away from the upper classes and were unheard of from the central area, like the Midgardians. Many times, they didn't consider themselves Asgardian, either – they preferred the term "intermediaries". They seemed less reserved than the latter, though. Civilians conversed with each other on the streets; some made their way to the little shopping complex a few blocks away while others walked each other back home. His brother, the little wise guy that he was, had been right: materialism breeds arrogance. Seldom had he seen youth walking around at eight and catching a film or a snack back where he lived. In fact, most rich kids there were driven to concerts by their chauffeurs, and the music there was definitely not his style. It was strange seeing couples walk past, holding hands and laughing without a care in their lower-class worlds. It was even more unsettling to see people that were noticeably strangers greet each other with a "hey" or a "good evening". The boulevards of sector DK, with its cities so pristine and orderly, seemed so… dead compared to here. Mathias had long given up on starting a random conversation with a passer-by on his way to work – they usually pretended that he didn't exist, which was _so_ uncool.

"_Buonasera_!" Startled by the voice behind him, Mathias yelled in shock and reached for one of the guns strapped beside the seat of his motorcycle. This only caused the speaker to shriek and raise trembling hands in the air, bags of food thudding onto the road. "_O mio dio_, spare me! I was just wishing you a good evening!" Mathias lowered his pistol and tilted his head, confused. "Please don't hurt me…! My _nonno _and _fratello_ are waiting for me to cook dinner today and I don't wanna die because I just got a new job and I made a new friend and _Idon'twannadie_!"

By now the speaker, a young man with short auburn locks and eyes that seemed to stay glued shut was sobbing and rambling incoherently, causing a scene in the middle of the road. All around them, people started to crowd and cars began to beep impatiently, only to drive around the growing mob. When a child gasped and pointed at the weapon in his hand, Mathias wished he never drew it out in the first place. Soon after, people started to mirror the little girl, hands over their mouths in horror as they shielded their children.

"Ah! I'm sorry, I really am!" Mathias yelled, shoving the pistol back into its holster and raising his hands in the air as a sign of apology. "I just thought, you know… I thought that _you_ were going to hurt me. Er…" He chuckled absentmindedly. These people were so frightened of him that several mothers started to flee the scene with their children in their arms and others started to dial the police. Mathias gulped. "H-Hey, guys… I wasn't really going to hurt anyone. I just thought that this kid was gonna mug me 'cause, well…"

"You shut your damn mouth!" Another brunette, just a couple years older than the weeping boy, shoved past the mob surrounding them and pointed a slender finger in front of Mathias' face. From the similar hair curls and accent, the blonde could tell that this was his elder relative. _Perfect_. Behind him, the other boy stopped wailing and squealed in joy.

"Lovi! Yay!" Mathias placed his hands on his helmet, irritated at himself and the situation he had put himself in.

"Shut up! _Nonno_ told me to help you with the groceries," the young man grumbled, spitting on the sidewalk after muttering a string of angry cusses. "And who the flying fuck are you, prince?" Puzzled, Mathias stood up to face the angry man, satisfied when he towered over him. The man known as Lovi backed away, the slightest bit of panic on his face, but the expression was wiped clean off his face a moment later. Mathias removed his helmet and scratched his head, amused.

"Sorry… What?"

"You heard me, you stupid aristocratic bastard! That's right, I know what that fancy-schmancy word means."

"Uh… I'm just passing by, is all." Shrugging, Mathias placed his hands on his hips, helmet resting between the crook of his elbow and his side. "Hey, I'm really sorry that I scared your… brother? I meant no-"

"You think your words can charm us 'simple folk', huh?" Lovi barked back, stomping a foot in fury. The blonde watched as the crowd started to dissolve, uniformed men walking into the midst. Mathias groaned.

"What is going on?" a slender, young man with brown, shoulder-length hair asked, walking to face Lovi. Beside him was another police officer of the same height and similar hairstyle, but blonde and dopey-looking. Lovi, who didn't seem less angrier than he had been previously, glared daggers at the Asgardian before turning to face the two cops, arms folded.

"This _idioto_ was threatening my brother with a gun! Have him arrested, charged, jailed, anything to get him away from us!" Mathias gaped in bewilderment and held one hand in front of himself in a stopping motion.

"W-Wait a second, it was all in the name of self-defence!"

"Bullshit!"

"Please, calm down," the brunette policeman said in an even tone before turning to Mathias coolly. "Excuse me, sir, may I ask what you are doing with firearms in the first place?" Mathias swallowed past the lump in his throat as the cop glanced towards his weapons uneasily.

"Well, you see, I'm from sector DK, Asgard." The brown-haired man ignored the sneers and murmurs from the civilians and nodded, signalling for the blonde to continue. At least the policeman understood that central Asgard was flexible with bearing arms. "I was making my way out of Asgard and into Old Midgard… to visit an old friend of mine." _The lie was necessary_, Mathias reassured himself. He didn't want to explain any further.

"Really?" This time, the blonde spoke up. He spoke in a very sassy tone, which Mathias found a bit awkward (and amusing) for a law enforcer to have. "I've never heard of an Asgardian movin' to Old Midgard before. Anyway, this has gotta stop. Even though we're all allowed guns, we don't sling 'em around everywhere 'cause that's not nice. I dunno about you city-slickers, but we're all cool with each other here, so we don't want any drama." The blonde policeman placed his hands on his hips.

Mathias simply stared back, dumbfounded. _What kind of game are these two playing?_

"Ha! You tell him, Feliks!" Lovi shouted as his brother clung onto him like a baby monkey, confused at the commotion.

"Please, be quiet, Lovino. Sir, I know you happen to be passing by, but-"

"Since you're, like, not from here, I think we should let you go with a little warning. Right, Tori?" Feliks interrupted abruptly. Lovino's triumphant smirk dropped off his face like a punch in the nose as he went sheet-white, then pink, then beet-red. Tori facepalmed.

"Feliks, it's not 'Tori', it's Toris. And I don't think-"

"WHAT? You're not actually letting this bastard go, are you? Feliciano, you wanna see this rich piece of shit behind bars, right?" For the first time, Feliciano opened his bright brown eyes and glanced up at his older brother, worried.

"Why, _fratello_? I scared him first, ve. And then he kinda held a gun at me, but he wouldn't have done such a thing if I didn't sneak up behind him." Brightening with his words, Mathias exclaimed wordlessly and gestured to the younger brother in silent thanks. Lovi kicked the ground, unsatisfied.

"Is that so?" Both Mathias and Feliciano nodded airily at Toris' question. The brunette turned to his partner, who really just nodded and blew off a strand of hair in boredom, and sighed. "Well… I'll still have to file a report, but I'll let you go this time, sir. An Asgardian travelling to Old Midgard, huh," Toris murmured to himself as he recorded the details of the situation and the names of those involved. They were finished with the report within minutes.

Feliks, who had started to file his nails while his partner wrote down the report, later found himself asking Mathias, "Where are you headed off to in Old Midgard? It's gonna be a really long night if you plan on leavin' now."

The brothers, who had just recovered from shock and rage, stared at Mathias in curiosity. Meanwhile, the Asgardian was having trouble trying to remember a single town he had sighted in one of the Old Midgard maps. Of course the lower Asgardians knew more about Old Midgard than the rest of them. However, it was Feliciano that saved Mathias once again from another tiring explanation.

"Oh! Our _nonno_ would let you stay! Technically, we own an inn, but there aren't as many outsiders around here anymore… Hey, you can have dinner with us. You like pasta, right?" Surprised as the sudden turn of events, Mathias nodded eagerly. Pasta sounded nice, even if that Lovi guy was there to make his experience all the more uncomfortable.

"Hm, I guess you've got it all covered, Mr. Køhler. But if I see those guns again, you will not be warned." Toris nodded a goodbye to Mathias and the brothers and left the scene, Feliks waving and murmuring, "See ya, boys!" before catching up to his more mature counterpart. That upbeat gesture caused Mathias to snort in the middle of the road, hands covering his reddening face. After a moment of not-so-silent laughter, Mathias faced the brothers and grinned.

"Thanks for the save. And I'm sorry. Again." The agitated scoff that escaped Lovino's mouth passed Mathias unnoticed.

"It's okay," chirped the younger brother known as Feliciano, eyes still half-closed. "It's really nice to meet you, now that you're not pointing a gun at me." The two chuckled nervously. Lovino simply sneered at Mathias, leaving him uncomfortable and rather guilty for laughing. "Oh! But we should really head back home before _nonno_ starts to worry. Please, follow us, Mathias!"

The Asgardian found it rather difficult to believe that the dude with the hot motorcycle would follow the two walking civilians back home, but he just complied with a nod.

.

After the wonderfully-filling dinner that Feli cooked for him and his family, Mathias decided that spaghetti bolognese was one of his favourite meals. Sure, it wasn't steak with rich gravy and bread with jam, but it was warm and tasty enough to make Mathias shamelessly ask for more. The dining room that they sat in had a homey feel to it; the green, white, and red tablecloth matched the curtains and seat covers, and the walls were decorated with paintings of all kinds of sceneries and plants. Apparently, Feliciano and his mother painted them all, but Mrs. Vargas didn't seem to live with them. It was rather sad, actually. _Nonno_ – Mr. Vargas – was pleased to have "such a bright and optimistic guest", to which Lovino blew a raspberry and stormed out of the kitchen, meal unfinished. Mr. Vargas sighed and placed a hand on his head wearily.

"Please, excuse my grandson. He's been like this for the past couple weeks." Mr Vargas looked rather young for a grandfather, something which surprised Mathias. His grandsons looked very similar to him, from the chocolate curls to the olive-toned skin. There was not a wrinkle on his face, except for when he grinned as brightly as Feliciano. The only sign of ageing was the greyed-out hair in his roots.

"It's okay, Mister. My neighbour was a bit of a spitfire like him, so I understand." Mr. Vargas chuckled heartily, downing his meal with a gulp of wine and pouring another glass. "Oh, thanks!" Mathias grinned as he held out his empty wine glass. When his glass was filled, Feliciano stood to take the plates.

"No, please, let me do this," Feliciano replied when Mathias offered to help. "I just got a job at a bar in Old Midgard, so this is good practice. Guess that means I'll see you there often, ve!" The blonde nodded back cheerfully.

"Mathias, my grandson says that you've come all the way from sector DK, right?" Mr. Vargas whistled. "Asgard must be smaller than we think or it may just be your ride. It seems pretty fast."

"Yup, the Odin MM is a pretty new model. Expensive, but the baby's worth all the credits," Mathias exclaimed proudly, taking an enthusiastic swig of wine. And here he thought that he'd be living on muesli and water and powdered soup for the rest of his life. Mr. Vargas roared in laughter.

"I envy you, kiddo. But you do realise that credits mean zilch once you step in Old Midgard?"

Mathias' eyes widened in terror. How could he have not remembered such a crucial fact? Hell, he'd even studied economics in high school _and_ was a college undergrad in accounting! Mathias placed his glass back on the table and whimpered. Even if he had taken it into consideration, Asgard didn't, and probably wouldn't, convert credits into whatever-the-hell-the-Midgardians-used.

"Didn't think about that…"

"It's all right, kid, I got you covered," said Mr. Vargas with a twinkle in his eye. "There's a guy in Old Midgard that's like your Asgardian equivalent of a banker, and he'll be more than happy to exchange your credits for their gold. It's not real gold, mind you. The currency's just been referred to that ever since anyone could remember."

Mathias glanced up and sighed in relief. "He won't scam me, will he?"

"Oh, no, no. Basch is the most honest man I know," Mr. Vargas explained after one last helping of wine. "He always keeps true to his word, as long as you do the same." He rummaged through his pockets for his a giant, brown lump of leather for a wallet, and took out a card.

"He's an arms dealer, too?" Mathias asked awkwardly as he inspected the black and silver card. He had quite a name – Basch Zwingli. The Asgardian allowed himself an attempt to pronounce it, but stuttered at the surname.

"He juggles those two jobs rather well. Helps reinforce his image." The blonde raised an eyebrow. _Huh_. He shoved the card in his wallet, thanking Mr. Vargas. "No worries, kid! By far, you're one of the best patrons we've had!" Upon hearing a loud bang from upstairs, obviously caused by Lovino throwing something against the wall, Mr. Vargas stole a worried glance at his younger grandson.

"Hey, is Lovino okay?"

Mr. Vargas smiled apologetically at Mathias and lowered his head, gesturing for the blonde to do the same.

"Oh, he'll be fine," Mr. Vargas whispered in clandestine amusement, "but can you do an old man a favour?" Mathias nodded slowly, and glanced at Feliciano, who seemed to catch their drift and was singing loudly whilst washing the dishes. "If you ever happen to stumble across an Antonio Fernandez Carriedo, please give him this." And almost out of nowhere, a plain lavender envelope appeared on the table, just waiting to be accepted. "You can look inside it if you'd like, it's just a photo. But please do not let it go. In these dark times, all a guy like Toni needs… is some inspiration." Mathias pondered over the words as he slipped the envelope inside his jacket. Mr. Vargas thanked him silently.

"For fuck's sake, shut the fuck up, Feliciano! I don't wanna hear another damn song from you or _anyone_ again!" screamed Lovino from above. Feliciano, realising his mistake, yelped and cowered behind a soapy dish as a sneaker crashed onto the staircase.

"Lovino!" Mr. Vargas shouted, rising from his chair and making his way upstairs. "I'm sorry, Mathias. Oh, your room's up the other stairway. Second one on the left. Bathroom's on the opposite side." He tossed a pair of keys from the distance and Mathias fumbled with it in surprise. "Lovino! We finally have a customer and you decide to act like a child!"

"Dammit, _nonno_! As if you'd understand how it feels like to get tricked by a sleazebag!" came the harsh retort from above.

Cringing, Mathias slipped out of the room and rushed up the stairs for a well-needed shower. His room was very modest but comfortable-looking; a bed just large enough for his long legs and a window with a simplistic-yet-interesting view of parks and urban street lights. Mathias was even happier to find a compatible power point where he could charge his devices. Once he unpacked in his room, taking out his toiletries and a pair of boxers, he escaped to the solace of soundproof bathroom walls. Heck, he could probably even sing in there without anybody hearing.

.

"Video diary thing 1, day 1, date unknown at the moment because I forgot…

"_Hej_! How are you guys? Thanks for those texts that I never really replied to. Sorry. I didn't wanna write a letter, so I'll just do these video diary things. If pa's still at work or something, force him to watch this. FORCE HIM. Um, so I am in sector IT right now, which is awesome because I am _this_ close to getting to the border. I thought it would take, like, three days to get here since I'm so freakin' lazy, but Odin is a miracle worker. Thanks, pa. Okay, so I kinda got into a little, er, misunderstanding this evening, but I guess I made some new friends after all this, including this guy who never – NEVER – opens his eyes completely and his brother who is a total PMS-ing nutcase. Their '_nonno_' is a pretty awesome guy, though. Oh!" Mathias grabbed his phone from where it sat on the bedside table and walked to the pile of clothes by his satchel, rummaging through his jean pockets until he found the lavender envelope.

"Get this, guys. So Mr. Vargas gave me this envelope with a photo in it and I'm supposed to hand it to some guy called Antonio… But let's check the photo out!" The envelope was unsealed so Mathias simply took the photo out and held it out in front of the camera. Lovino, void of his signature scowl and frown was in the picture, a guitar in his arms and his mouth open in song. From the looks of it, the picture was taken not long ago, despite current advances in technology rendering print forms of images obsolete. Mathias stared at it with raised eyebrows.

"Huh?" The Asgardian chuckled. He didn't quite understand it (and probably the Antonio guy wouldn't, either), so he placed the photo back in the envelope and tossed it onto the table. "Anyway, that was the angsty lunatic I mentioned before, but he never really smiled like that. Makes me wonder what happened to the dude, hahaha." He cast another glance at the envelope which had missed the table and fallen to the floor, curious.

"Well, I guess that's it. I swear these video diaries will get better once I get to Old Midgard. And I'll prove to you guys that it is _not_ a shithole! Wish me luck, and tell my baby Arthur that he's a loser. Miss you guys already, but I'm not coming back, pa. Sorry. Well, see ya!" Ending the video recording and feeling like a peppy, semi-retarded, teen vlogger, Mathias shuddered and placed his phone back onto the charging dock on the table with a sigh. He'd probably end up sending the video to Sten in the morning, so he could show the rest of the family. Mathias was still in the proximity to send messages to inner Asgard, right? He shrugged, mostly to answer his own question, and slumped onto the bed in exhaustion. It felt great to lie down and sink under a soft pillow and mattress. It felt so much like home, although now it was too eerily quiet…

"Where the FUCK did that picture go?" screamed the all-too-familiar voice of Lovino from what sounded like the first floor. Mathias jolted on the bed and hugged himself, trying his very best not to fall off. From the living room below, Feliciano yelped.

Or maybe not quiet enough.

* * *

_To be continued._

* * *

_**By the way, Sten = Freetown Christiania. So, uh, I guess he is an OC of sorts.**_

_**Courtesy of Kitty, here's a link that you may find funny if you thought 'What the hell, Mathias does accounting?' all throughout the chapter: watch?v=MTH3VHBnBSE&feature=related**_

_**I was hoping to update within this week**__**, but I'm afraid that the wait might be a little longer. I'm really sorry, but I'm happy that you've spent some time to read this. Please hang on. *sends interweb love***_


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